


There For You

by sabbathgoat



Category: Mötley Crüe, The Dirt (2019), The Dirt: Confessions of the World's Most Notorious Rock Band Book - Mötley Crüe & Neil Strauss
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Mick needs more love, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Platonic Cuddling, Sickfic, Tommy being there for Mick, can be read as a couple or just friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22667860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabbathgoat/pseuds/sabbathgoat
Summary: (Tommy/Mick with the prompts: "Why are you awake?" & "Holding everything in doesn't help, you know.")1997. Mick finds himself stuck on the stairs of a shitty motel one night, pretty sure that he was dying. Luckily his drummer is there to pick him up.
Relationships: Tommy Lee & Mick Mars, Tommy Lee/Mick Mars
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	There For You

**Author's Note:**

> My first Tommy and Mick fic! I hope I do them justice <3

**1997**

Motley Crue had made it four official months into their scourching hot summer tour of 1997, when their bus just so happened to break down in a small shitty town somewhere in Arizona. The prognosis? Terrible. The thing had carried them far, but as many people in Motley's life it too had crashed and burned under the pressure of the infamous band. Or rather, burned more so than crashed... Standing on the side of a lone highway in eighty degree weather, clad only jeans and leather, was not what the group of four had exactly been planning on doing with their travel day.

"This fucking sucks balls, God _DAMN_ it!" The fumes coming from Nikki's head were bigger than the ones currently spurting from their poor vehicle's hood. The bassist had paced a well worn down path through the grass, stepping over a discarded plastic cup more times than Mick could keep count. He let out a painfully long groan of frustration with two fists gripping his unruly hair.

"Don't worry Nikki, we'll figure it out," Vince did his best to sooth his friend, but all three of them had heard the hidden nervousness in their singer's voice.

"We gotta be on stage in seventy fucking hours and are still a hundred miles from where we're supposed to be, _fuck_ ," Nikki whined into his hands that scratched at his face.

"Seventy fuckin' hours?" Tommy chimed in with nothing else really to say other than to halfheartedly mock his friend. He had spent the last five minutes of Nikki's near-panic attack seeing how hard he could step on a large fallen tree branch before it broke.

" _Yes_ , and I swear to fucking god if we aren't there I'm going to sue everyone in my fucking line of sight," The bassist snarled towards him

"All of you just calm down, we called for a ride and it will be here," Mick had finally decided he'd had enough of his band's bickering. _"You guys act like children at any inconvenience."_ He hadn't said much since they piled onto the side of the road to watch on at the driver painfully extinguishing the bus engine. He crossed his arms slowly over his chest, leaning back slightly against the sting in his spine that had been growing since the mini crisis. The only reason he hadn't shed his leather coat along with the others was because the pain in his back was worse than the pain of the threatening heat stroke. Luckily a snap from Mick Mars was enough to shut the rest of Motley Crue up, and the older man could spend the next hour and a half until their ride arrived in almost peaceful silence.

**

Five hours later and halfway to their destination, they had gotten themselves and what luggage that would fit in the trunk of the taxi checked into a shitty motel.

Like, _really_ fucking shitty...

A really shitty motel that had only two rooms left.

_What kind of place like this was fully booked?_

Nikki turned away from the counter and nodded for a quick 'band meeting'

_"How far is it to the next town?"_ He whispered.

_"Pretty sure it's another hour and a half,"_ Mick mumbled the bad news.

_"Shit..."_ Nikki scratched his chin. _"I'm fucking exhausted, can we just survive one night here?"_

_"If the fucking staff don't murder us,"_ Tommy giggled.

_"What staff?"_ Mick grumbled, earning a good laugh form all three of them. He didn't find it so funny, however.

They all silently agreed on who would room with who without having to ask. Mick wanted to laugh at how terrified the poor man at the front desk looked when he had to break the news that only two rooms were available for four grown men. Four grown men who were decked out in eye liner, coated in sweat, hair bigger than a lion's mane (save for Tommy), and dressed in a Harley driver's dream outfit- one of which having an electric guitar strapped to his back to top it all off.

**

"You need the bathroom before I shower, drummer?" Mick tossed his mini duffle bag and guitar onto the hideous bed that probably had witnessed a few murders. Too many years of experience had taught him not to leave his prized strat behind on a dead bus in the middle of nowhere.

"Nah, I'm good," Tommy sounded a little more melancholy than usual as he flopped back on the other bed, instantly turning the tiny television on to surf through scattered news channels.

Mick quickly grabbed what he needed from his bag and made his way over to the bathroom. The bathroom where apparently all the murders had taken place... Consisting only of one lone sink without a counter, a broken mirror, a terrifying toilet, and a deep tub with a rusted shower head, it was easily the shittiest bathroom Mick had ever set foot in. And he had been homeless at one point.

_All their years of touring, and they couldn't find a better fucking hotel?_

Mick swallowed back his gag as he undressed and stepped into the shower. No curtain on the rod, so he made haste in scrubbing the day's stress off in the cold water that laughed at the idea of any sort of pressure.

And he tried his best not to look at the drain.

**

"That was fast," Tommy looked over at Mick with his usual sleepy grin when he returned clad in his sweat pants and t-shirt with a wet mop of unbrushed hair. The drummer had also shed his pants and shirt, ready for bed dressed only in his pizza decorated boxers.

"You'll know why," Mick sat down on the edge of his own bed. At least the joint had air conditioning- he'd give it that.

"That bad huh?" Tommy's tired laugh was enough to chip away at the suppressed anger Mick had been nursing all day. He had one of the sweetest voices Mick had ever heard; a part of him wished that he would do more singing with Vince one day. They could absolutely kill it together in his opinion, if only they got along just any little bit more. The guitarist grinned as he gingerly leaned back to lay on top of the covers while crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't feel like making tonight the night to pull back the sheets of a bed that probably hadn't met a washer in years and see all the stains that could be acquired in a place that competed with Hell.

_"Oh yeah,"_ He mumbled in agreement.

"I should just ditch the toilet and piss on the floor, it'd be an improvement," The drummer cracked up at his own joke. Mick grinned wide as he closed his eyes and laughed with him.

"For sure. Definitely consider it."

"It'd be a real shame if two rock stars got fuckin' hammered and trashed the already trashed motel, wouldn't it?" Tommy giggled and turned the TV off, drowning the room in darkness. It appeared that he too had the same idea of not crawling into a cocoon of ancient body fluid to sleep that night.

"It would. Too bad neither of these rockstars can actually get hammered, though." Mick sighed as he waited for the wave of exhaustion to hit him.

"Nah, this place doesn't deserve the sobriety of Motley Crue," A yawn cut Tommy off before he continued. "I say we should get fucked up and treat this shitty motel like the shitty apartment we came from."

Mick yawned right after him, but his mind remained working at full speed ahead as he started daydreaming about all the wicked parties they'd thrown back in the day. Not an ounce of tiredness was tickling his brain. Usually by midnight he was the one checked out and half asleep in bed with Tommy bouncing off the walls- not the other way around. Maybe it was the gross motel, or the dead cockroach that had been stuck in the drain inches from his bare feet, he thought. Or the cold shower that had chilled his entire skeleton. Or the coyote currently howling outside. Or possibly his back- but had learnt to sleep through that one long ago.

Tommy mumbled something incoherent in his trip to dream land as he finally jumped over the gate of consciousness, spread upon the covers in a twisted position that Mick wished he could accomplish.

The guitarist sniffed slightly as he tried again to check out too. Five minutes went by, and his feet still hadn't stilled from rubbing together in boredom and patience. Maybe he should dig around the bathroom for a hairdryer and get the heavy wet hair off his head... But Tommy hated getting woken up, and Mick wasn't sure how much he trusted a hairdryer in a place like this anyways. He settled instead on just listening to the bugs outside and hooting of an owl somewhere on the roof.

Minutes ticked by. And a little more. He probably was just out of the sorts from not eating in the past seven hours and the hot sun they'd stood under for quite a while. He _had_ felt a little dizzy on the way to the motel, now that he thought about it... Maybe that would explain the dull headache slowly growing deep in his skull. Or the churning of his stomach that refused to settle down.

The weight of his guitar next to him suddenly seemed a lot heavier, as if the world was tipping towards it. Tommy stirred in his sleep, and it was then that Mick cracked his eyes open and saw from the clock next to the TV that he had been lying awake for a whole hour already. He sighed in frustration, pulling himself to prop up against the shitty pillows. But the stinging pain in his back refused to subside as it usually did when he was falling asleep in that position, and it started to worry him.

_Whatever_. He'd had a pretty fucking shitty day. Of course he felt like garbage and his arthritis was acting up more than usual.

Mick closed his eyes again and concentrated on Tommy's soft snoring from the adjacent bed. _One, two, three, four_ , he counted them in his head. Around number ten, he was hit with a memory of a time when Tommy had passed out at the end of an afterparty and slept for sixteen hours. They had gotten a great kick out of that one back then, but quickly lost their minds when his snoring went on _way_ too fucking long. By number fifteen, Mick then started thinking about a time when Tommy and Nikki had gotten totally hammered and kissed each other at a party back in 1982. The amount of cocaine and booze running through their systems back then had made it the funniest fucking thing ever, and all four of them had laughed their asses right off. It had been some stupid dare, but they made a marvelous show of making out for everyone to see. And then he remembered another time not long after that in which Vince and Tommy teamed up to try and get Mick with a chick... It had almost gone according to plan, but then Nikki had swooped in unexpectedly from fucking nowhere and shoved her off the older man's lap, declaring something like _'hey, the old man is mine motherfucker, back off slut!'_ And made his perch on Mick's thighs. They had also laughed their asses off at the shocked woman taking off in embarrassment.

He missed those days sometimes. When they didn't care about a single thing other than their music. They were such assholes to every other living person, but they didn't give a _shit_ about it.

Now here they were, choking back beef they had with each other and sleeping in separate nasty fucking motel rooms- way off a schedule that at one point in time they didn't give two shits about. It was times like this when Mick wished he could turn back the clock, just for one day... To a time before reality got the best of them. Before his back hurt too bad, before Nikki had killed himself over and over again, before all the sorrow they had to come to face. He would do anything for one more moment back then, when it was just Motley Crue being Motley Crue and destroying the world before it got a chance to destroy them.

Mick opened his eyes again when a tear escaped and took off down his cheek. _What the fuck?_

He sat up too quickly, hissing at the small pop his lower spine produced. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up to fumble through the darkness to the bathroom. He didn't turn the light on until the door was shut to avoid waking Tommy, and bolted to the sink to wash his face off with freezing water. It snapped him out of his stupor, but everything still felt terribly _wrong_ to Mick for no reason at all. He wanted to take a drink from the sink, but decided against it at the thought of all the diseases growing in the pipes. He sucked in an uneven breath instead as he looked up into the cracked mirror. His reflection was cut in half, but he could make out the redness in his exhausted eyes.

_How long was he crying for? Was he actually crying, or just getting an allergic reaction to the damn radioactive water he'd showered in?_

The filthy bathroom suddenly felt way too small for Mick to stay in any longer. His back and hips were screaming at him, fighting a war with his head and his stomach was getting caught somewhere in the crossfire. A dizzy spell hit him as he turned the light off to leave, swaying on his feet as he entered the main room. He was forced to run a hand along the wall to steady himself and get there without making love to the stained carpet floor. 

_Water. He needed water, right?_ It had probably been a little too long since he'd had any. And maybe food, food was also good and normal... And a painkiller would be a nice cherry on top.

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

A deep sigh steadied Mick enough for him to pull on his sneakers and slink to the front door, easily opening it and slipping away without Tommy even stirring in his deep slumber.

The warm night air did little to soothe the swaying in his skull. So Mick started walking.

Along the walkway that had quite a decent view of the vast farm lands in the night over the metal railing. Under the yellow security lights on the building, highlighted by the red neon sign in the parking lot reading nothing but _MOTEL_. No wind stirred, and Mick couldn't tell if that made him more relieved or more nauseous. He walked past Nikki and Vince's door- the two obviously asleep judging by the pitch black and silent room. Or maybe one of them was lying awake with unresolved stressed like he was. Maybe Mick could knock on the door and see, possibly get lucky enough that it would be true and he could consult with his friend about all these wicked feelings tormenting him.

But he didn't want to risk waking two testy bandmates, so he kept on. Walking past them, towards the end of the outdated building where the staircase awaited.

Mick stopped at end of the path on the first stair, looking out over at the landscape.

It was gorgeous under the light of the waxing moon; endless fields and forests bathed in a blue glow beyond the yellow hue around him. Not a car drove by, not a soul awake at the deep hour of the night. It was just Mick, alone with his mind.

He sat down stiffly on the metal stair, picking at his well kept nails in attempt to focus his painful eyes. A small breeze went by, blowing his damp hair across his face and tangling it even more in the wind.

No sleep greeted his mind. Not an ounce of tiredness. As empty as the world around him.

Mick Mars sat on the step alone in the world for thirty minutes, counting the seconds that went by between spells of dizzy nausea that hit him. He wished he had grabbed a wad of cash from his bag to go hunt down a vending machine; his guts were really starting to hurt now. _Fuck, wasn't not drinking supposed to help with this shit? How did he have a hangover when he hadn't touched alcohol in ages..._ He ran a hand over his dry eyes, whimpering at the pain it caused. Then gravity started playing games with his poor old head. The world seemed to sway to the left, then sway to the right, and Mick had to reach clumsily for one of the bars on the railing.

_Wouldn't that one be a bitch? 'Famous Motley Crue guitarist found dead at a shitty motel after falling down the stairs because he was a hazardous old man, but his name isn't worth mentioning!_ ' Headlining every newspaper. 

Man, he must really be getting old... How was he supposed to keep up with his younger friends the rest of the tour? He had done it almost flawlessly for nearly twenty years, but at the moment it felt like he was getting ready to check out for good.

He thought back to some of their first concerts- back when he was able to show off on stage as much as they did. When he wore what they wore, all the chains, leather, spikes, boots, anything that would catch people's eyes and turn heads. When had he stopped doing it?

He thought about all his bands and life before Motley, and how fucking _bored_ he had been. Motley gave him everything he had ever wanted- a family that loved him back, music to write, music to play, a world to take over and blow the fuck away. But what had _he_ given back? An annoying temper, a drunken haze, a body failing twenty years early?

The coyote came back, singing a song about being all alone far away in the desert.

_Maybe the band would be better off without an old drag like him around_. Mick rested his aching head against the cool metal bars of the railing, chasing any amount of peace he could find. He tried not to remember the days when he had slept alone on benches under the stars, with nothing but a guitar to his name, but he did... He felt like that right now, deep in his heart.

A tune that might actually would have made a good song in a different circumstance suddenly ran through Mick's head, the coyote backing it up with it's sorrowful song.

" _Mick?"_ Whoa, that coyote out there sounded like it was saying his name. Mick tried to laugh at it. " _Mick!_ " Wait, no, it sounded like... _Tommy? "Mick!"_ Fuck, that was for sure Tommy running towards him. "Mick, what the hell, why are you awake? You good dude!?" His drummer, dressed in nothing but black pajama pants, bolted over to Mick along the walkway when he finally spotted him, launching down to sit next to him on the stair. Mick tried to scoot over, but a sharp pain in his stomach and head sparked a nasty firework of discombobulated nauseua that racked his frame.

"T-Tom-" He squeaked but lost as his throat tightened.

"Mickey, you okay bud?" Tommy rubbed his shoulder. That felt nice... at least, Mick was sure it was supposed to. He didn't actually feel anything- was that a good thing?

" _No_ ," he moaned out, and slumped forward.

"Shit, Mick, what happened?" Tommy shot his other hand out to catch his friend before he fell forward completely, and Mick worked with him to sit back again.

_"I dont know dude,"_ The guitarist attempted a smirk with his pathetic shrug.

Tommy's brows furrowed at how nonchalantly Mick was taking this.

"You drunk?" He knew the answer but it just didn't seem logical, so he asked anyways.

"No, T-Bone..."

"Shit, did you even eat anything today?"

"Yeah," Mick was about to list off his very responsible diet from the day, but... shit, he couldn't remember a thing.

"Water?" Tommy spoke.

"What?"

"Did you drink any _water,_ you know, like a normal grown man does on his own?"

" _Fuck you Tommy,"_ Mick's hostile hiss did no harm.

Tommy fell silent along with his older friend as the two both surrendered to the heavy feelings they were swimming in. Well, Tommy was swimming- Mick felt like he was just drowning. Especially with that sad look Tommy was giving him... He was their wild motherfucker, their baby of the group; he should never look this sad.

"You okay, Mick?" Tommy mumbled with a gaze of longing.

" _Yeah_..." Mick whispered after a few seconds. It may actually be true; he wasn't entirely sure anymore.

Tommy kept staring down at him. So Mick looked away. He felt his drummer's hand reach up and pet over his thick hair, carding his fingers through the drying mess. It felt nice. Probably the nicest think Mick had felt all day... Tommy kept doing it, and the gentle massage worked wonders on taming his dizziness. They stayed like that for a few minutes; the younger man combing Mick's hair with his hand. Each unworried about any paparazzi crawling around a nearly abandoned motel in the desert at two in the morning.

"Come here," Tommy suddenly acted like he was about to move Mick and oh, no, that wasn't a good idea.

"No, no!" Mick cried out, trying to push him away. The dizziness in his head had finally started to go away, and if he moved again it would come back!

"Mick I can't leave you on the fuckin' stairs bro, come on," Tommy easily beat him in strength, pulling his older friend up by his arms and allowing the guitarist to lean heavily on him as they walked back towards their door. _Fuck, first he nearly passes out, then has to be helped back to their room by his drummer? Shit, Mick wouldn't be surprised if they disowned him the next day._ They passed Vince and Nikki, luckily both still sound asleep in the night. Maybe Tommy would show some sympathy and not tell them what went on.

_"'on't tel- 'em,"_ He tried to squeak out.

"What?" Tommy looked down at his friend with confusion and concern.

Mick was going to repeat himself a little more properly and ask Tommy _please, don't tell Nikki and Vince what a dumb ass I am-_ but he decided against it. Everything hurt, and it was taking every ounce of strength he had to just keep taking steps forward. Luckily Tommy took that hint and didn't ask again, focusing on keeping his guitarist upright.

"Come on babe," Mick wanted to comment on the unusual nickname from the younger man, but his jaw apparently still didn't want to work for that either. Tommy opened their unlocked door with one hand, keeping his other arm wrapped securely around Mick's torso as the two stepped back into the dark room.

Tommy all but dragged Mick to his own bed to avoid body slamming his poor friend into his prized guitar on the other one. He helped Mick flop down on his back, apologizing quickly at the grunt of pain Mick tried to hide.

"Okay stay put old man, I'll be right back. Don't fuckin' move," Tommy threw his sandals on and took off outside at high speed.

Mick was left alone in pitch darkness after the echo of the door shutting faded away.

It was silent, save for the running air conditioning unit somewhere by the window. He kind of missed sitting outside listening to the crickets and the coyote... He noticed his mouth was unusually dry when he tried to swallow and totally failed. _Man, he'd kill for a cup of fucking water right now..._ Maybe he should just risk it all and drink from the bathroom sink already. _Yeah, that sounded nice..._ He wasn't totally incapable of fending for himself; just because he had some pretty wicked headache and his entire body was on fire, didn't mean he couldn't walk to the fucking bathroom.

His legs didnt move when he tried to get up. Neither did his arms. Or maybe they did, but Mick sure as hell couldn't feel it if so.

Shit. He was stuck.

"Tommy?" He called out when another dizzy spell hit him and the dark room swayed back and fourth. "T-Bone?" _Where the fuck was he?_ The room stayed quiet. Wait, Tommy had left... _Fuck, why didn't he remember that?_ Mick groaned deeply when he tried to sit up again, moving to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but gave up again when everything felt too heavy and sharp to move. He managed to roll to his side, the pain in his back suddenly drowned out compared to the raging headache slowly pounding harder in his skull.

_Why had Tommy left him? Where did he say he was going?_

Alone in the dark and feeling like he was knocking on death's door- he'd been through it before, but usually a bad night of drinking was at fault. Never just... out of nowhere, like a hangover from life itself. Mick closed his aching eyes. There was that exhaustion, finally catching up...

This was how he died, he realized. Abandoned, forgotten, left alone in a shit hole in the desert where no one would ever find him. He was finally too old to keep on, and his body was packing it's bags to hit the highway to hell. He wanted to say one last thing to Tommy- probably thank him for being such a good friend and not letting him die on a staircase. Maybe also ask him to tell the other two assholes that he loved them with all his life.

Mick laid in the bed with closed eyes, thinking about darkness and wondering where his kids were. He was sad that he didn't know.

**

_"Mickey, wake up bud..."_

He was dreaming about walking somewhere in California; a huge field of yellow flowers all around, and a mansion to the right hanging on the edge of somewhere in LA. It was so _sunny_ , with rolling clouds on the horizon that chased the ocean to the left. His back didnt hurt, and that was pretty nice. There was a younger looking kid running through the grass up ahead. They were too far away to see their face, and their back was turned to Mick- but he _felt_ like he knew who they were, deep down inside... He watched them through the wind that ran through his hair as they galloped away with joy until they disappeared into the wildflowers.

_"Mick, come on."_

_Tommy? Was it him?_

Mick opened his eyes- his haven of peace falling away to a dark room that smelled like a musty basement. He wasn't in a field, he remembered- he was in a shitty bed in a nasty fucking motel stranded and dying. His stomach was killing him. His head was worse.

_"Mick,"_ Someone whispered by his ear, their voice soft and full of what felt like understanding. _"Come on dude."_ A hand gently pushed his hevay hair out of his face. He liked that...

_"Tommy?"_ Mick managed to find his words, sniffing as he used a shaky arm to push himself up. Tommy pulled softly on the other to help him balance in the best sitting position he could accomplish at the moment. The room wasn't so dark anymore, Mick noticed when his eyes cleared up- a lamp had been turned on over by the television, bathing the room in a yellow glow. He also noticed that his shoes had been taken off at some point and tossed over by the wall.

"Yeah, just me. Here, come on and drink," Tommy's roughly smooth voice grounded Mick slightly as the guitarist turned his head towards the drummer sitting next to him. A cold bottle of water was placed in his weakened hands.

_"Fuck, thanks-"_ Mick waited not a second longer before tearing it open as fast as he could, and going to town downing it all. Tommy watched him carefully as his older friend drank half of it before pausing for a quick breath, then finishing it off. "Thanks T-Bone," he whispered.

"No problem old man," Tommy chuckled as he reached to his other side and presented a single granola bar. "Eat up, buttercup," he said with a laugh. "I tried to find more, but this fuckin' joint had literally _nothing_." He bounded from the bed and over to the bathroom. Leave it to Tommy to be wide awake with the energy of a child at-

_Shit. Two thirty in the morning._

Mick tore open the package with what strength he mustered up, and did as he was told. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything, but judging by the sharp pain in his guts when he swallowed his first bite, it had been just a little too long. 

Three minutes passed until Tommy returned with a loud yawn as Mick finished.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thanks..." Mick looked to the floor as his younger friend sat down next to him again. He yawned for a second time, triggering one from Mick as well, and stretched his long arms out.

"Hey, don't look so sad..." he spoke softly as he examined him a little closer. His worrying gaze felt like a thousand pounds on top of Mick, and the guitarist sucked in a shaky sigh under it.

"'M not." _Curse his voice for cracking._ He blamed it on the dehydration.

"Yeah you are, I know you. You woke up at one on the morning and just so happened to wander off into the night and nearly pass out on the stairs. So. What's wrong?" He plucked the wrapper from Mick's hand and threw it to the floor.

"I didn't wake up at one," Mick pouted, still avoiding his younger friends eyes.

"Then when did you leave?"

"...It's nothing, I'm sorry."

Tommy was silent for a moment. He played with his fingers, picking at his nails while bouncing a foot, and Mick knew he was cooking up a way to say something important.

_"Holding everything in doesn't help, you know..."_

Mick felt tears knocking on the back of his eyes. He didn't want to answer, but they slipped under the door and blurred in his vision.

_"...I didn't wake up because I never fell asleep,"_ He whispered to the floor- another stressed sigh exhaled into the cool air. "I don't know what's wrong. I couldn't get tired, then I got dizzy and almost passed out, so I panicked. I'm sorry I woke you up..." Mick curled in on himself as he ran a frustrated hand over his face. His long hair fell forward to hide him from Tommy's view, but the drummer was having none of that and brushed it all back over his shoulder right away.

"Shit, it's okay Mick... You could have woken me up, I don't mind." Mick knew it was true. Tommy was the sweetest one in the band, in his opinion. Mick didn't deserve any of the endless generosity he handed out so willingly.

Mick wanted to say something else, probably that he was sorry anyways and wouldn't want to bother Tommy with his shit- but his body was suddenly hit with a wave of long overdue tiredness.

_"Come here,"_ Tommy breathed, and that was it. He wrapped his long arms around Mick as the guitarist turned and returned the embrace. He quivered in Tommy's hold under the soothing rubs along his sore back. The dizziness that had been teasing the back of his skull for hours finally died away for good when Tommy's other hand massaged his head.

_"I just feel like such a shit show sometimes..."_ Mick admitted against Tommy's neck, thankful for his dark mane of hair hiding his face despite no one being able to see him anyways. He wanted to tell Tommy all the suppressed fears that were tormenting his brain as well- about how some nights he couldn't stop thinking that he was running out of steam. How his back was slowly getting worse and his hips were getting a little more fucked up every day as well. How worried he was that one day he would just drop dead in the middle of a show, only remembered as the old man that could never party as hard as the rest of them.

"Nah, dude..." Tommy mumbled sweetly. His ragged voice vibrated against Mick's chest and snapped him away from his daydream; that voice was one if the nicest things about him, he mused. "We're all a fucking shit show. No harm done there, babe. You know all the wild bullshit me, Nikki, and Vince have been through. We fuckin' dragged you along through enough of it with us... A little sunstroke and dehydration is nothing, Mick," Tommy laughed with tired giggles, his shoulders shaking against Mick's body that earned a grin from the guitarist as well. "Are you smiling yet? I can't see you," Tommy nuzzled against Mick's head. That enticed a chuckle from Mick as well, tightening his hold on the drummer. He rubbed his forehead against Tommy's neck, yawning against his skin as he felt his body grow heavier.

If Tommy took it as Mick just feeling guilty for getting sick, the he'd let him run with that. And hell, maybe that's all it really was. Mick didn't know for sure exactly how much of his overbearing paranoia was actually a result of his mental stupor from earlier.

_"Yeah.... Thanks, Tommy."_ He settled for a whisper against Tommy's bare shoulder.

The younger man released his hold around Mick to go lay back down in bed in his previous spot.

_"Come,"_ He sleepily beckoned with a finger and stern caring gaze that left no room for argue.

Mick obeyed. He had nothing else to fight.

The two found themselves curled up together again on top of the filthy covers of a shitty motel bed in the middle of nowhere. Mick tucked away against Tommy's tattooed chest where no dizziness or nausea could ever find him. His drowning world had finally settled in the ripples, right side up and out of danger when Tommy saved him from the waves. A hand ran through his tangled hair again, massaging over his head and every so often grazing over his ear.

" _Thanks_..." Mick repeated against his drummer's warm collar bone. He moved just a centimeter closer to shyly press his lips against it in a ghost of a touch, too scared to actually kiss him.

_"No problem old man,"_ Tommy mumbled from the verge of sleep with a wide grin buried in Mick's hair. "Any time you need a good cuddle, you know I'm here." He kissed the top of his head. The hand in his hair moved to stroke along Mick's jaw and earn a small shiver from the guitarist. "You don't ever gotta worry about us leaving you behind or throwing you to the wolves, you know. You're our one and only Mick Mars, the greatest motherfucker out there killing it on guitar," Tommy's words slurred slightly between Mick's mane and the sleep he was fighting. "Any time them wicked thoughts are running through your head, just knock on my door and I'll help you out babe." _That nickname again..._

_"You keep calling me babe?"_ Mick whispered softly, half hoping that Tommy wouldn't even hear it.

"Oh, sorry, I can stop," _Ever apologetic, as always_. "I just like calling you it, you know. Cause I call everyone I love my babe," He yawned against Mick's head. "You're my favorite babe though, so maybe I should come up with a different one..."

_Oh no...._ Mick waited in anticipation as he could practically feel the gears turning in his drummer's head. 

"Can I call you Sexy?"

"No."

"Damn," Tommy laughed with what energy he could build up, holding Mick even closer to his chest. "Okay fine, what about Spaceman?" His other hand easily slipped under his shirt to rub up and down Mick's back. Mick was silent as he thought it over for a moment. "Oh yeah, Spaceman it is," Tommy giggled when he took that as a yes. He kissed Mick's head again.

Well, it wasn't _terrible_ , the guitarist decided.

"Hey... you won't, uh. Tell the others about this, right?" Mick murmured with obvious embarrassment. 

"'Course not dude, don't worry." Tommy tilted his head to peck his lips on Mick's forehead. It sent flowers blooming in his already sore stomach. _"Your secret's safe with me, Spaceman,"_ he whispered.

" _Thanks T-Bone. I don't deserve you._ " Mick couldn't tame the crooked smile that snuck up on his lips.

"Nah, it's _us_ that don't deserve _you_ , Mick," Tommy breathed into his hair. He stroked his hand along Mick's cheek, rubbing his thumb right under his eyes and touching his ear with his fingertips. "I love you."

And Mick decided that before he could over think yet again and stress on how unusually intimate they were being, he closed his eyes and kindly asked for the gods of sleep to take over.

They eventually did, and he drifted off wrapped up between Tommy's arms and his torso- just after planting a gentle kiss to his drummer's neck when he was sure he'd fallen asleep.


End file.
